It’s not easy to put this all into words. I don’t really feel like I have a right to be upset about my miscarriages, especially after reading these stories. I’ve hesitated to tell my story for fear of judgement, especially since I already judge myself so harshly.
When I was 18, my boyfriend of almost a year and I found out I was pregnant. He was a senior in high school and I was in my freshman year in college. We knew we were in no way ready to be parents. He was already signed up to leave for the Marines after he graduated, and I wanted more out of my life than to be a teen mother. We talked it out for days, and decided that terminating the pregnancy was our option. So on the morning of October 2nd, 2001, I went with my mom, who stood by my side, and had it done. I was one of the worst days of my life, as well as one of the most painful, physically, emotionally, and mentally. I tried to act like everything was okay for a number of months, but eventually I blew up, and life spiraled after that. My boyfriend and I split up, I dropped out of college, and spent the next two years in an alcohol induced fog.
Two years after that choice, I found myself pregnant again. There was no way I was going to repeat the decision I had made previously, so it was time to grow up. The father of the baby wasn’t someone I was in a relationship with, nor was he someone who I thought could be responsible enough to be around, so I had every intention of being a single mom. My mother was excited, and after I told her she already started to buy little things. My father and step-mother were less than excited, and made it clear that they thought I should put the baby up for adoption. That wasn’t something I felt I could do though, after carrying it for 9 months, so I told them no. This was my choice.
I was at work the day after telling my father and step-mother, and I started bleeding and cramping. The doctor told me to go to the hospital, and after calling my step-mother, who was the only one I could get a hold of, she took me in since they didn’t want me driving. By the time we made it to the hospital for blood work, it was obvious that I was miscarrying. I didn’t really know what to feel. I was sad, but at the same time, a little relieved that I wasn’t going to be a mother yet. I don’t remember too much of that week. I remember the pain being intense and that’s about it.
After that, I basically lost myself again. I worked numerous jobs to fill my time, and when I wasn’t working I was drinking. Alcohol numbed everything, which was how I survived life. I had so much guilt about the abortion, could barely look at myself in the mirror, and felt like the miscarriage was my fault because I had terminated a pregnancy.
A few years later, I met the man who is my husband now. The night we met, I knew we were going to get married. When we found out we were pregnant, I was so scared that I wasn’t going to carry full term. He knew all about my past, and just kept telling me it would all be okay. I was high risk since I had miscarried as well as terminated a pregnancy. I went into labor the first time at 25 weeks, had to go on bed rest, and then delivered my son at 34 1/2 weeks. He spent time in the NICU because of his poor lungs, but eventually came home, and is now a decently healthy six year old. We have a good life, and I’m utterly in love with my son. He’s the best part of me. He is my whole world, and is the reason I do anything.
Two weeks before he turned six, I miscarried again. I didn’t even realize I was pregnant until it started happening. I had an irregular period, which was not normal as I’m consistent every month, but I thought maybe it was stress related. Ten days after that, I woke up in pain, cramps shooting through my abdomen, and after going to the bathroom, saw what was happening. I called my mom in a panic, called my husband, but by that afternoon, it was for sure a miscarriage. I was devastated this time. We weren’t intentionally trying for another baby, but we’ve been on the fence for a number of years about having another one. My husband took care of me through it, wiped my tears and helped keep me together so I didn’t break down completely. It’s been almost a year now since that, and I’m about 95% sure I don’t want to even try for another baby, for fear that I’d go through that again. We didn’t tell too many people, but now when I get asked the “When are you going to have another one?” question, just tell that I’ve miscarried twice so we’re hesitant to try again. It generally shuts them up. I hate that fucking question.
Everyone has a different story. Everyone makes different choices. After almost 14 years, I still have an immense amount of guilt, and feel like I don’t have the right to be upset about my miscarriages. I feel that everyone else’s story is more important than my own. How can I sit here and write about this choice I made, when it was something I had control of. I just don’t think I could have talked about my miscarriages without talking about my abortion. I sort of expected to feel like a weight was lifted once I got this all down and put it out there for the world to read, but I don’t feel any differently.
Editor’s Note: Thank you for sharing your story, Anonymous. I truly hope you know that your words WILL help many of the readers of this website. You are not alone, guaranteed. Love and healing vibes to you.